


Little Lion Man

by srmarybadass



Category: The Borgias
Genre: BDSM, M/M, consensual whipping, general roughness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 08:44:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/srmarybadass/pseuds/srmarybadass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the following prompt at borgiaskink: "Literally anything Cesare/Micheletto. I don't care!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Lion Man

“You have failed me.”

 

“I am sorry, my lord,” Micheletto said quietly, eyes downcast. “It won’t happen again.”

 

“You’ve broken my trust,” Cesare continued, stepping closer. “I trusted you. Did that mean anything to you?”

 

“It means everything to me, my lord.”

 

“Then tell me, my dear assassin…do you trust me?”

 

“Always.” Micheletto dared to raise his eyes to Cesare’s.

 

“Do you want me to have faith in you?”

 

“I thought you only had faith in God, sir.”

 

Cesare chuckled. “Cheeky bastard.” He strode over to the door of his luxurious bedroom and locked it. “Now, remove your shirt and grab the end of the bed. Keep your hands together.”

 

Wordlessly, Micheletto obeyed, averting his eyes when he saw Cesare draw two things from the depths of his robes – a small whip and a silk scarf.

 

There was sudden warmth at his back as Cesare pressed against him and wrapped his arms about Micheletto’s lean frame, winding the cool silk scarf around his wrists and tying it tightly. Although he had no intention of escaping, Micheletto, out of habit, flexed his wrists, testing the strength of the knot. It held quite fast.

 

The warmth vanished as Cesare stepped back. He cracked the whip once, into the air. The sound made Micheletto flinch slightly, waiting for the blow that didn’t come. He was therefore taken slightly by surprise when the whip struck his bare flesh for the first time, cutting deeply, but not as deeply as he had previously endured – not as deeply as he wanted. He gasped and tensed his muscles, waiting for the next strike.

 

Crack.

 

Crack.

 

Crack.

 

“Harder, my lord,” Micheletto said, voice low and controlled.

 

“Harder?” Cesare mused, stretching his shoulder. “As you wish, my little lion man.”

 

The next strike had most of Cesare’s considerable strength behind it. Micheletto cried out slightly and arched his back, letting the bolt of pleasure-pain dash through his body, soothed only by the slightly trickle of still-warm blood down his back.

 

Thrice more the whip fell, and thrice more the assassin bore it, jaw clenched tightly. Then there was a pause, light thump, and a loud rustle. Micheletto did not dare to look, but he was quite sure it was Cesare’s luxurious robe hitting the floor, cast aside like a dirtied piece of sackcloth.

 

Sparks of pain flew danced across his back as Cesare gently raked his fingers up and down the fresh wounds. Micheletto shivered as the fingers were suddenly replaced by something far softer – lips, trailing ever-so-softly across his shoulder blades, while Cesare’s hands – surprisingly strong, for a man of the church – slid up his torso, gliding over muscle and bone. Caught between the sensations, Micheletto couldn’t help but let out an uncontrollable sigh, relaxing slightly as he let his head loll to one side. Cesare took the hint, biting down none-too-gently as his hands slipped down to his trousers.

 

“Do they…hurt?” Cesare mumbled, successfully maneuvering Micheletto out of his breeches.

 

“I’ve had worse, m’lord,” Micheletto said through gritted teeth.

 

“Well, we can’t have them scarring worse than the last,” Cesare decided, striding completely naked over to the chest of drawers and withdrawing a tin of balm. He coated his fingers with it and gently rubbed it over the assassin’s wounded back. It tingled slightly, but was, on the whole, a far more pleasurable experience than the lemon juice had been.

 

He jumped when the salve-coated hand dipped…lower.

 

“I imagine this is probably a new experience for you,” Cesare said conversationally, fingers probing at his entrance. “You don’t seem like the type to…surrender.”

 

“I submit to one person, and one alone,” Micheletto replied hoarsely.

 

“And that would be…?”

 

“You, my lord. My master.”

 

“Master…I like the sound of that.” Cesare grinned, stretching his assassin open with two fingers, the other arm wrapped around him possessively. Micheletto whined, hard as a granite sculpture, but unwilling to lose control and beg for release. “Do you want me, my little lion man?”

 

“Yes, my lord.”

 

“Say please.”

 

“….Please, my lord.”

 

“Very well then.”

 

Micheletto could feel Cesare grinning against the back of his neck – the very same place he had put a knife to the night they first met – as he slid in slowly. Cesare made a sound that was suspiciously akin to a growl – a possessive, rasping noise that sent tingles up and down his assassin’s spine. The Borgia heir was surprisingly gentle, almost cradling Micheletto – who, unlike some flowerlike noblewoman, had no need of being coddled – and thrusting slowly, at first.

 

“Harder, my lord.”

 

How odd it was, for a servant to be commanding his master in such a way. Odder still that the master would obey with nary a word of protest.

 

Micheletto’s climax came slowly but surely, and he was sent over the edge when Cesare raked his fingernails down his chest hard, leaving scarlet scratches that mimicked the ones already on his back. Cesare followed, biting down hard on the tender skin of Micheletto’s throat and resting his chest on the fresh wounds of his assassin’s back. The pain, unsurprisingly, had receded somewhat, although there was still a sharp buzz that kept him on edge and added a needed counterpart to the sleepy pleasure that was taking hold of his body.

 

Cesare reached his hands around and untied the scarf. Micheletto flexed his fingers and rotated his wrists, making sure circulation returned to them. Upon discovering that they worked perfectly fine, he turned around, only to find Cesare close – very close – but not uncomfortably so.

 

And then Cesare Borgia kissed him.

 

Gently – another surprise – but with strength and promise behind it. Micheletto gasped slightly, this one simple act being the only thing this afternoon that had truly shaken him, that knocked him off-center.

 

“I would say that you have successfully regained my trust,” Cesare mumbled against his lips.

 

“I am honored, my lord,” Micheletto replied.

 

“Good, good.” Cesare grinned, wicked light sparking behind his eyes. “Now, I ask you again…do you want me?”

 

“Yes,” Micheletto answered without the slightest bit of hesitation.

 

“Excellent,” Cesare replied, sauntering towards the bed. “Then come and claim me, my little lion man.”


End file.
